Bloodshot Skies, Blue Eyes
by TheSoliloquy
Summary: A series of short drabbles and oneshots revolving around Barty Crouch Jr, in the view points of everyone else. Chapter 3: What was Dumbledore thinking after the trial scene, as he watched the image of Barty Crouch Jr. swirl in the pensieve?
1. Aftermath of the Kiss

**Title: **Bloodshot Skies, Blue Eyes  
**Chapter length: **422 words  
**Summary:** A series of short drabbles, and oneshots revolving around Barty Crouch, Junior.  
**Chapter summary: **It was pure curiosity and regret that drove Albus Dumbledore towards Moody's office, yet neither deed nor wish could bring back Bartemius Crouch, Junior.  
**Chapter verse: **Book-verse  
**A/N: **Have recently developed a David Tennant obsession, hehe. It led me to look a **lot **more closely at the character of Barty Junior, and I've realised how brilliant a character he is. It's a shame they changed his character in the film, since he was the one who was a little sympathized, and Barty Senior was the hard and very stern one. Ah well, my view of Barty Junior is half way between the movies and books. He is absolutely mental, and yes a little sadistic, but he does deserve a bit of sympathy. That's mainly why I'm doing these drabbles, so I can sum up the other characters' views on him. The chapters will alternate between the books and the movies. This particular chapter is book-verse. Read on...

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**Bloodshot Skies, Blue Eyes  
**Aftermath of the Kiss

He had meant to go to the Diggorys, or so he'd told Harry, yet it was pure curiosity and regret that drove Albus Dumbledore towards Moody's office. By then the Dementor was gone, driven away by the fury and wrath of the professors McGonagall and Snape, but Winky had remained, sobbing uncontrollably as she clutched a pale figure, her spindly arms thrown over his rope-bound chest.

"Master Barty! Master Barty is gone!" She wailed. "Master Barty is not hearing Winky! Oh, Master Barty!"

"...Poppy..." One word. One word was all it took from him, and the healer rushed forward from her place, attempting to pry away the elf.

"NO! Master Barty, speak to Winky!!! NO! NO!" the little house-elf's shrieks intensified, rising to a shrill pitch as she continued to weep. "Master Barty! Why is Master Barty not speaking to Winky?!"

"My dear Winky," The old wizard began softly. "I'm afraid Bartemius cannot hear you."

Winky froze. Her brimming wide eyes bore into him with shocked intensity as the tears continued to leak, dripping from her chin and staining abstract patterns into her rag, but finally with an almighty cry she released the figure and turned to bury herself in Poppy's apron, resuming the shuddering weeping as the healer patted her back. Albus sighed heavily, slowly striding further into the cluttered room. The thin and disheveled form remained completely motionless against the wall, his head bowed down to his chest. Compared to the large and baggy clothes he wore, he appeared oddly frail, and the coat was more empty than not.

"Is he... gone, Albus?" Poppy whispered fearfully over the cries of Winky, staring wide-eyed and worriedly at the form.

Albus flicked his wand and the ropes disappeared, releasing the figure to slump further down the wall; any lower and he would have lying on the floor. Gently reaching out, he cupped the unshaven chin, tenderly lifting the face to the dim light. His eyes met brown; brown eyes which had once shone ablaze with dark glee and unconditional madness.

_Your father loved you, Bartemius_, Albus thought sorrowfully, brushing strands of straw-coloured hair away from the eyes. _Even if he never thought to show it._

"Albus?"

The headmaster picked up Bartemius' calloused hands, holding them in his own as he gazed into the dull eyes. They bore nothing. No emotion, no life, no recognition. They merely stared back at him, blinking slowly.

Neither deed nor wish could bring Bartemius Crouch, Junior back; sanity had long since fled, and taken spirit and soul with it.

"Yes, Poppy... He's gone."


	2. Anger and Awareness

**Chapter length: **1,196 words  
**Chapter verse:** Movie  
**Chapter summary: **Anger and awareness. Awareness and anger. Which came first, Alastor Moody had no idea, but both hit him full on as he woke in the white of the hospital wing.

Forgot the disclaimer!

**Disclaimer: **Anything that is familiar does NOT belong to me!

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**Bloodshot Skies, Blue Eyes  
**Anger and Awareness

Anger and awareness. Awareness and anger. Which came first, Alastor Moody had no idea, but both hit him full on as he woke. The white of the hospital wing slowly came into bleary focus as he blinked once, twice, thrice, until finally he felt another's presence. The stern, lined face of Minerva McGonagall looked down at him from his bedside, as she uncharacteristically wrung her hands.

"Alastor?" She enquired gently. "Are you awake, Alastor?"

He merely grunted in response, reaching lamely towards his eye on the table beside him. Her overbearing gaze was beginning to unnerve him, but he said nothing as he popped the spherical object back in with a small 'squelch'.

"Do you..." McGonagall began, having slightly paled at the abnormal sight, "remember anything?"

Moody rolled his eyes- or rather, rolled one eye while the other scoured for his leg- and grunted again. How could he not remember? A nice dinner ruined by bangs and crashes, then the annoyingly snivelling sight of Pettigrew, and... _Crouch_! He jerked upright from the bed, immediately swinging his legs over the side as McGonagall's eyes widened.

"Alastor!" She exclaimed as he seized his leg and scrambled to attach it, before changing her tone to a more commanding speech; the sort of tone she often used on students. "You _must _stay in bed, Alastor!"

"Gotta find Crouch." Moody merely grumbled, already standing and making for the doors, his staff in hand.

"Don't be ridiculous, Alastor!" She cried, hurrying after him. "You cannot parade around the school in a dressing gown!"

"Watch me." He growled back, pushing through the doors and surging down the hallways. Where would he be? Where would he be? Where- the basement was the obvious answer; it had been used before for such cases. He took a left turn, then a right, all the while ignoring McGonagall's calls and threats from behind him. Most likely it'd be Snape guarding the scum. Was that wise? An ex-death eater guarding a death eater? No matter what Dumbledore said, he'd never truly believed that a death eater as deep as that potions master could change sides in a click. Still, Snape may also find joy in Crouch's pain... he may stand back and watch.

"Professor Moody?" A voice exclaimed from above. Ha! Professor: as if he'd done much teaching. He glanced up to see three students peering curiously down at him over the banister of a staircase.

A girl, a boy- one of the Weasley clan by the look of his red hair- and another boy, dark-haired with rounded glasses perched on his nose: _Potter_. For the shortest of seconds he paused, before recovering himself and continuing down the hallway.

"Later." He threw the growl over his shoulder, wondering dimly why McGonagall's voice was becoming distant. It was amazing what a one-legged man could achieve when angry.

"Granger, Potter, Weasley! Back to class this instant!" She had changed the unusual threats to stern orders, though through the back of his head Moody could clearly see the three students join the chase. Outrunning an elderly witch was one thing, outrunning three young teenagers was another thing completely. There was only so much a one-legged man could do. Especially a one-legged man of _his _age...

Aha! But to his luck- rather baffling considering his recent severe lack of the thing- his destination was steps on front of him. He didn't bother with his wand, though he had a sneaking suspicion it was still in the hospital wing, and burst straight inside. The potions master stood at the side of the door, his wand at the ready, but he merely acknowledged the furious Auror with a lazy flick of his head and watched as Moody ignored him completely and headed straight for the middle of the room.

Barty Crouch Junior jumped to his feet as the Auror came charging towards him, evading a flying fist but unable to duck out of the way as Moody seized the front of his oversized shirt and slammed him against the wall.

"Kept me locked up in a_ trunk_, Crouch." He growled fiercely. "Bad idea."

Barty's eyes twinkled, and a gleeful smile spread on his lips as he glanced down at the fists knotted into his shirt.

"What'd happened to constant vigilance," He drawled, his voice half strained by Moody's grip, "eh, Alastor? May I call you Alastor?"

The Auror cursed angrily, bringing his arm back and his fist around. Crouch's head whipped to the side with the striking impact, but the twinkle and smile lingered on as he faced him again.

"I take that as a no then?"

Moody growled furiously, throwing his fist into Crouch's stomach and feeling a slight satisfaction at the pained grunt it provoked. He brought his staff around the gasping man's head so hard, that while he didn't lose consciousness, he was thrown to the floor with a 'thud'.

"Alastor!" A voice cried out from behind him, alarmed and shocked, but he chose to ignore it and swung a kick at Crouch, again satisfied at the gasp. "Alastor, stop this madness! Severus, stop him!"

"Not to worry, Minerva," The flat monotone voice of Snape spoke dully, "I'm sure Professor Moody knows what he's doing. He _is_ an Auror, after all."

Smart man. Moody threw another kick... and another... And another...

"What are _you_ doing here?" Snape's tone changed abruptly, "Thirty points from Gryffind-"

"Professor!"

"Professor Moody!"

"Professor, _stop_, this is _wrong_!"

It was the last cry that stopped him, and surprisingly it seemed too high to be McGonagall. Moody froze, slowly dropping his foot back to the floor and glancing over his shoulder. There stood Snape, McGonagall- who seemed divided whether or not to use her wand- and the three students, the female of which gazed pleadingly at HIM rather than the downed death eater. For a short second he looked into her brown eyes, and found the unmistakably clear glint of intelligence. This _was _wrong.

He looked back at Barty Crouch Junior, on his knees on the floor with his arms wound around his stomach. What had he done? Utterly horrified, Moody took a step away from the death eater, and watched him shake with hacking coughs as they wrenched his thin form.

For the first time since the trial, all those years ago, he saw Bartemius Crouch Junior for what he really was. This was the pureblood son of a powerful man of the ministry. This was the very same Slytherin who'd achieved 12 O.; more than many wizards. This was the man who'd overpowered him in his own home, and had the wit to manage to mimic him in front of even Albus Dumbledore himself.  
And yet what he saw was a scrawny stick of a man, driven out of his mind by the neglect and malign of his father. And whose hand was now speckled with blood from his raw hacking.

Finally the unforgiving coughs ceased, and Barty looked up at him, an insane grin lighting his face and a deranged glint in his eyes.

"If _you _enjoyed that," He giggled, looking every bit the demented death eater, "just _imagine _what my father would have felt."


	3. Cast Them Away

**Chapter length: **470 words  
**Chapter verse:** Movie  
**Chapter summary: **What was Dumbledore thinking after the trial scene, as he watched the image of Barty Crouch Jr. swirl in the pensieve?  
**A/N:** Hmm, there's quite a lack of Barty Crouch Jr fans and fictions... Ah well, hopefully some more people will begin to pay him attention. Haha, I wonder if anyone is actually reading these drabbles... For any Bellatrix fans, she's in the next chapter.

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**Bloodshot Skies, Blue Eyes  
**Cast Them Away

"I think it's best if you simply... cast them away."

He watched the memory ripple across the pensieve's surface, blending bland grey with golden light and clear image.

He saw a baby, delicately wrapped in woollen blankets and cradled in the arms of a proud mother. A baby, who with wisps of straw hair and creamy cheeks, was the spit of her. A baby he'd cooed down to, and congratulated the birth of. A baby with a firm, strong name, the same as the father.

He saw a boy hid behind his mother's robes, his straw hair slicked back smartly and shoes scuffing shyly against the floor. Even then the father had paid little attention to the boy; only to scold him.

He saw a boy perched nervously on a wooden chair before a great hall, his feet stopping just short of the floor, and a single word that echoed through stunned silence. "SLYTHERIN!"

He saw a boy excelling in his subjects, a genius of transfiguration and a master of potions. The compliments and proud comments he'd given to the boy were countless.

He saw a boy whose heart began to ache with loneliness. A boy who strived for friendship, and found it in the most unlikely and deceptive of places. A boy who began to blend with the wrong type of crowd, lost in his hearts desires. A boy driven by neglect.

He saw a boy giddy with pride and delight, a paper of results in hand as he thrust them eagerly towards the father. A boy deflated with disappointment and grief when the father merely nodded. "Good" was all he received.

The boy grew into a young man, and so a smart respectable young man he was. A young man of high expectations. A young man he cared for in an almost paternal way.

He saw a young man brimming with desperation and hate. A young man who sought power and love, and fell apart searching. A young man sent to prison for his weakness.

He saw a young man slowly wearing away, his sanity slipping little by little until it hung by a mere thread. A young man under lock and key, further away from love and belonging than ever before. Far, far away from the mother who so cared for him.

He saw a young man deep in fitful sleep. A young man who tossed and turned, who rambled and sweat. A young man who shrieked and moaned and cried, unaware of the wizard regarding him sadly through the bars of the cell.

He saw a grave; disheveled, uncared for and abandoned. A grave riddled with weeds, and whose stone was twisted among the grasps of moss and vine.

He watched as the swirling image weakened.

And with it faded the memory of Bartemius Crouch, Junior.


End file.
